Healing
by Kariza Elquen
Summary: When the sophomore class of Skaia High returns from their day-long field-trip, they find their school in ruins and almost everyone murdered by two hit-and-run criminals. The small class of 20 students is being put through several weeks of recovery therapy with an unorthodox psychiatrist. Humanstuck/Highschoolstuck AU, rated T for violent themes. *I don't own the image or Homestuck*
1. Session 1

I hear the school bus screech to a halt outside my open window. Several minutes later, the door opens. The students slowly file in, one by one. No one looks at anybody. They keep their heads bowed, faces blank.

I examine them as they enter, all twenty of them squeezing into my office. A group of four sits on the couch against the right wall, and another group of four on the couch on the opposite side. The other twelve arrange themselves haphazardly on the floor in between.

I stand and walk around my desk, hands clasped behind my back. On the inside, I am nervous. I have never dealt with something like this before. However, I am fully aware that my training and expertise have prepared me well for this. So I display a calm, confident exterior as I lean against my desk, facing them.

My office is white, very white. My first choice was an intense green, but the company wouldn't let me decorate my office so colorfully. But I don't mind the white. It is clean and it calms me. Still, I can see it makes some of them anxious. I watch my own hands clasp the edge of my desk as I lean back against the front of it, facing them. My skin is pale, almost as white as the desk itself. I take a moment to straighten my suit jacket and adjust my tie. I can feel a single bead of sweat finding its way down my forehead. Quickly wiping it away, I look up at the students.

I am in power over them, I know. I can heal them. Taking a deep breath, I speak.

"Good morning, children," I begin, watching as some of them finally raise their heads to look at me. Most of them stay with eyes down, scrutinizing the impeccably vacuumed, snowy carpet.

"My name is Doctor Scratch, and I am a physiatrist. You may call me Doc Scratch, if it makes you feel more at ease with my presence. I am a professional. You are in safe hands, and in a safe place. So make yourself at home."

I stand up straight as I deliver my last line, the one phrase I use for every new visitor, no matter their business in my office.

"After all, I am an excellent host."


	2. Session 2

The first session did not go as I had hoped, but it did go as I had expected. Although I would have liked the children to be more talkative, I had understood they were still recovering from the shock and it would be some time now before they were able to feel comfortable approaching the topic.

However, I had been adamant that we achieve something, even on the first day. So I had encouraged them to talk to each other, to familiarize themselves with their situation. No one had spoken a word. I had left the room, hoping my absence would make them more at ease with speaking to each other. When I returned, the groups had struck up a few whispered conversations, which abruptly stopped when I had stepped back into the room. I had concluded that they were in fact gossiping about me, not discussing their current predicament. I had felt a shadow of doubt cross my mind. Were my abilities good enough?

But of course they were. I had been the first day. I would have been quite mad to expect anything else.

So I had dismissed them early. Now, each of them once again trudges into my office, at the same time and in the same manner as the previous day.

I wait patiently for the room to fill. Today, I am determined to make palpable progress. So I begin without hesitation.

"Thank you for returning, pupils," I greet. "Now, today might be a bit more difficult than yesterday." I've got the attention of all of the children now, even if they're pretending I don't.

"Now, would any of you care to explain to the group the details of the incident?" No one moves. It occurs to me that perhaps no one has told them everything. "Does anybody even know?" A few of them slowly shake their heads. I realize I am going to have to do this the hard way.

"There are two hit-and-run attackers who sometimes work together and sometimes don't. They go by the aliases of Lord English and Jack Noir. They are also currently number one and two of this region's most dangerous criminals." The students are frozen in place. I pause to survey their faces, and then continue.

"They first entered through the front office and shot the woman working there, Ms. Paint." As I provide them with this factoid, I can hear the minute sound of sniffles from the floor. One of the smallest girls, with short red-brown hair, has begun to cry. _Good_, I think, _they have started showing emotion and facing the problem for what it is._ However, I am met with a glare as the muscular boy next to her puts a large arm around her shoulders. Only slightly shaken, I go on.

"Of course, the rest of the school immediately followed standard lockdown procedure. Unfortunately, English and Noir possessed hand grenades, broke the windows to each classroom, pulled the pins, and threw them in. The building was then set on fire. Nearly everyone was murdered systematically. Even Principal Hussie perished. Admirable planning, you must admit, but dreadful."

There is an icy pause as a girl with long, dark hair rises from the floor. "What kind of operation do you think you're running here?" she asks me accusatorily.

"I beg your pardon?" I reply slowly, unfolding my hands.

The girl sneers at me from the middle of my office. "Come out from behind that desk, you coward," she commands. I am stuck between showing looking weak by doing what she says, or seeming cowardly for staying behind my white bureau. I believe she knows this, that she has put me in a compromising situation purposefully. I look into her calculating eyes. A clever girl, this one, but brash.

"What's your name?" I ask her, negotiating with myself by stepping to the side of my desk.

"Vriska Serket," she announces, holding her chin high. "And I was just wondering what the fuck you think you're doing."

I try to keep my voice level. It almost doesn't work. "I would thank you kindly for not swearing in my office." Everyone is gaping at us now. I'm sure my bald head is shining with sweat.

"'Admirable planning?'" she quotes me mockingly. "'Murdered systematically?' Do you think this is a game?" I stare at her. This girl will pose some problems, I can tell. "You obviously don't understand what we're going through here. Most of us had siblings in other grades! Who are now dead, okay? And you're not even acknowledging the emotional effects this has, oh, I don't know, probably had on us? You're just describing the murders in oh-so-precise detail. What, do you want us to live the horror again? Just let us move on with our fucking lives, and you can go back to yours, pathetic as it is!"

Her words hang in the air for a moment, and as she sits, a chorus of applause erupts from the other students. This cannot be happening. I am the leader here. I decide to throw a curveball. I go back behind my desk and open a drawer, retrieving a manila folder.

"I don't think you understand my objective here…Vriska, was it?" I reply coolly, presenting a calm and collected exterior to the best of my ability. The folder falls open in my hands, and I rifle through the papers there with long, thin fingers. My hands are shaking ever so slightly. I locate what I am looking for and briskly pull it from the other items. The folder I drop on my desk, and the photograph I hold in my hands as I cross back to face her.

"I don't want you to simply ignore this tragedy," I explain, fingering the photo in my hands. "I want you to comprehend it, accept it, and only then move past it." I look her right in the eyes. "How well do you think you understand the magnitude of this event, and how it will affect your physiological well-being if you let it rot in the back of your mind forever?" She is silent. I hand her the photo. She reaches up with quivering hands and snatches it from me. I can see her exert a certain effort to force herself to look at it.

"You fucker," she mumbles as she regards the sight of the remains of her smoldering school, walls fallen in on each other. In the background, firemen cover bodies with sheets, and carry others off on stretchers. With one swift movement, she rips the photograph in half, stands, and shoves the fragments at my chest.

She prepares to storm out of the door, and half of the others rise to follow. With a hop, skip, and a jump, all professional of course, I am blocking her path.

"Sit. Down," I say in the sternest voice I can muster. She looks up at me, eyes wide and wet, face flushed from anger.

"Sit down," I repeat, gentler this time, but still firm. The students return to their places grudgingly.

"I can see this isn't going to work. I am going to organize one-on-one sessions with you all before we reconvene with the group. Does that sound better?" I ask. Not one of them says a word for or against my new plan. I quickly formulate a schedule in my head as I go. "I will take four of you a day for the next five days, starting tomorrow. The meetings will be individual. On the sixth day everyone will be expected to be here, at this time. Am I understood?"

I see some nods. Rubbing my temples, I lean back against my desk and sigh.

"I will contact you all tonight and you will show up at the designated time, no excuses. Now please, remove yourselves from my office."

They all stand up to go. Vriska is the last one out, giving me one last arrogant smirk before stepping into the hallway and slamming the door behind her.

**Author's Note: If anybody has any ideas for any of the coming individual sessions, please review to let me know! :33**


	3. Session 3 - John

I glance pointedly at my watch. It's already five past nine. I've forgotten what child I scheduled for the first time slot, but he or she is quite late. I try to turn back to my other paperwork, but find I can't concentrate. Tapping my pen exasperatedly, I fight the urge to check the time once again.

At fifteen past, he bursts in, panting heavily. A relatively short boy, with raven black hair, throwing itself about irregularly on the top of his head. Large, smudged rectangular glasses perch on the end of his nose, looking ready to fall off. He pushes them up.

It is at this moment I finally bother to locate my list, pulling it out from a stack of papers strewn across my desk. Trailing my finger down the names, I address him.

"John Egbert?"

"Yes sir," he breathes, falling into the single chair I have placed directly in front of my desk. I lean forward and scrutinize him.

"Tell me about yourself, John," I request. He looks up, making eye contact with me for the first time. His are a bright blue, almost iridescent. He immediately looks down and starts fiddling with the seam on his t-shirt.

"Ghostbusters, huh?" I say as I recognize it. He looks up, eyes sparkling. "Heh…I used to be quite the fan when I was your age." I can feel him warming up to me. "Now, tell me about yourself, John?"

He hesitates just a moment. "Well, my name is John. I'm fifteen. I live with my dad; he's a businessman. Uh, my cousin Jane is in my class. She's scheduled to meet with you on the last day, she said. My best friends are Dave, Rose, and Jade. They're coming today, too. Uh."

He looks down again, swallowing hard. "I had some friends in the other grades. Older friends, younger friends. And they're all." He's having trouble saying the word. "Gone."

I quite like this boy. He's very open, very willing to communicate and work with me.

"Very good," I say, as I lean forward over the surface of my desk. "Thank you for not shielding yourself from me. I am trying to help you all, but some of you will be more reluctant than others."

"I am trying to be mature," he admits, "to try to balance out the immaturity of some of my classmates. It's…hard. But my dad is proud."

"How do you know?" I ask. He smiles.

"He left me a note."

"Is that how your father communicates with you? Through paper?"

The grin flops, and the blue of his eyes darkens, turning from a bright summer sky to a rainy autumn afternoon.

"No. Well, kind of? I mean, we talk. Sometimes. But, it's really not his fault. I know he tries, but usually when he tries to talk to me I abscond."

"Why is that?" I probe.

"I don't know," he states matter-of-factly. "Maybe it's because…because I know I've done some things that he _wouldn't_ be proud of me for."

It is my job, as the physiatrist, to ask the patient questions. I know this. But sometimes I feel intrusive, asking question after question and receiving answer after answer. I do my best to push this feeling away. I worry that someday I won't know when to stop.

"What sorts of things have you done?" I ask.

"I don't know," he replies, his tone harder. He is slipping away. If I want to get anywhere I can't have that. _Stop messing up_, I think to myself.

"So tell me your story, your perspective," I invite him. He says nothing. "About last week."

John takes a deep breath, and runs his right hand through his hair, which rustles and resettles in a different position. "Well, my class and I went on a field-trip. Just our grade. Skaia High is pretty small, so it's just the twenty of us. The sophomores. Our escort was the science teacher, Mr. Becquerel. He took drove us to this site about an hour away to teach us about geology. We spent all day digging for rocks and sometimes we found bones, too. I think I still have some." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out some stones, holding them out to me.

"You keep them with you?" I wonder aloud, somewhat mystified. Many people try to distance themselves from tragic events, but John seems to want to keep the memory close, like it is sacred somehow. I can understand, but yet I can't. But as it turns out, that's not it at all.

"No, I just…haven't really bothered to change since then," he mutters, shoving the rocks back into his cargo pants. For the first time it occurs to me that maybe his flyaway hair is not usually _this_ flyaway, and perhaps he doesn't always wear dirty clothes and smudged glasses. I tell myself to pull it together.

"John, after this meeting, I want you to do three things," I say. "One, think about what we will have discussed today. Two, take a shower, and three, put on some clean clothes." He nods, perfectly amiable and prepared to follow my instructions. I think of another thing, one that might be slightly more difficult than browsing through a closet.

"Also, speak with your father."

His head hangs.


	4. Session 4 - Dave

John and I are still deep in conversation when the door opens smoothly and a blonde boy wearing dark sunglasses saunters in. I realize it is already eleven o' clock, and time for my next meeting.

"Until next time, John," I say, rising to shake his hand over the surface of my desk. He gives me a crooked smile and stands to give me a floppy handshake. As he turns, the boy who just entered gives him a curt nod.

"Sup, Egderp," he greets. I cannot see John's expression, as he has turned to face the other, but he pushes the chair to the side to give the newcomer a hug before disappearing out the door.

The blonde boy, who remained stiff while his friend embraced him, approaches my desk slowly. Once again, I put out my hand. He shakes it firmly and sits down. I do the same and glance over at my list, sitting to the right of my clasped hands.

"Dave Strider," he introduces himself before I can read it out loud from the list. "Eleven o' clock." His sunglasses reflect the light from the windows behind me, making it hard for me to look him in the face.

"Correct. Would you mind terribly taking off your glasses?" He gives me a look as if I'd just asked him to pole dance on a cactus wearing a sombrero and smoking a pipe. I quickly shake this image from my mind.

"Nah, man, I'm cool," he responds slickly. I look him up and down. He certainly seems to think so. Either way, I am irked, because it will be difficult to read his expression with his eyes shielded behind those shades. I clear my throat, and begin the conversation the same way I had for John, since that seemed to go well.

"Tell me about yourself, Dave," I offer. His blonde eyebrows dip down below his glasses as he frowns.

"Dave Strider. 15. I live with my brother, Dirk, also in my class, but older. It was that whole thing where two people have sex, and then like immediately after the baby is born they have sex again. So we're pretty much nine months apart."

My forehead crinkles at this brazen statement. "So, your parents then? What do they do?"

He doesn't skip a beat. "Nah, Doc. You got it wrong. We don't have parents. We raise our own damn selves." This is certainly a strange boy, but I make a mental note to further investigate his living situation, just in case. Until then, I decide not to question it, and cut straight to the chase.

"Describe what you saw when your class returned to school the day of the field-trip."

"So you're not one to beat around the bush, eh?" he responds. "Does it even matter? You just heard the whole story from Egbert."

I shake my head. "Indeed. But now I want to know what _you_ saw." I watch as he hesitates. He seems like the kind of guy who wouldn't be able to resist telling a good story. I am not disappointed.

"Well, we turned the corner and saw everything burning, and police cars and fire trucks everywhere. Mr. Becquerel tried to pull into the parking lot, but there was yellow caution tape blocking off the entrance. So he parked on the street and told us to stay on the bus. He got out and went to talk to one of the police officers. I wasn't taking that teacher shit in the time of a crisis, so I got out and found a fireman to talk to. Aradia came with me, 'cuz she has this whole exploring fetish or whatever. The fireman asked if we were supposed to be in the bus. At which point Terezi came out and…I don't even know. It's Terezi. I guess it was like, a mixture of flirting and threatening? Basically how she gets Karkat to tell her everything." He pauses to take a deep breath, and then plunges right back into his story.

"So he told us what he knew, which actually wasn't much, in retrospect. He was supposed to be supervising the removal of the bodies, so he went off to do that. So Aradia, Terezi and I walked around some more, and by then pretty much all of the kids had come out of the bus. So I went off by myself after that to get a closer look, and I saw –"

He stops abruptly. "And you saw?" I repeat.

"They were carrying this stretcher, not really a stretcher I guess, they were saving those for the injured. More like a plank of wood." His voice is hoarse. "And I saw this freshman. I forget his real name. He liked people to call him the Mayor. We hung out in the hallways before school sometimes. He was the shit. Tiny guy, really, and never hurt a fly. And I just."

His voice cracks again, and this time he makes no effort to continue. I can just barely see a tear leaking out from under his sunglasses before he goes to scratch his cheek and it's gone.

"Dave," I say quietly. "It's okay. You don't have to be cold all of the time. It's perfectly normal to feel what you're feeling right now. And we're alone here. No one will know."

And with that, the floodgates open. Continuous streams of tears fall from behind his shades and into his lap, and I sit still, watching him as silent sobs wrack his body.


	5. Session 5 - Rose

**Author's Note: I received a Midnight Crew threat from a certain member, so I decided I better upd8. But then I got absorbed in listening to "Nillili Mambo" on repeat for hours on end. :33 Anyway, whoever thought Karkat was a fireman, I'm sorry if I wasn't clear. I meant that Terezi had influenced the fireman, similar to the way that she can influence Karkat, who is indeed a student. Sorry for the confusion. Also! I am running out of ideas for the coming individual sessions, so if you have any, let me know! Purrlease! Anyway, enjoy Session 5 – Rose! :33**

I dismiss Dave early. His constant practice of hiding his feelings from the world has left him the most internally and emotionally vulnerable of all the children. It is noon when he leaves. I decide to take my lunch break, which I had not been planning to do in order to fit in two-hour sessions with all of the students. I am grateful for this.

After a cheap lunch of a cold turkey sandwich from an old deli down the street, I return to my office and clean up a bit of the clutter on my desk. Precisely when the old grandfather clock in the corner of my office strikes one, a blonde girl pushes open the door with the hand that isn't carefully gripping a large black tome. With my desk organized, it is easy to find my list.

"Rose Lalonde?" I ask, and she nods, short hair bobbing around her chin. She steps forward, sitting down leisurely in the chair in front of my desk. I clasp my hands atop my paperwork. "Tell me about yourself, Rose," I say. This line is getting old. I need to think of something else.

She gazes at me in a way that eventually makes me feel like I'm the one being studied. Her eyes are an interesting grey color, almost purple. She raises her eyebrows and purses her black lips.

"Hm. I live with my older sister Roxy, down the street from Dave and Dirk. She is always drunk, though, so she is not great company. I like to read. I play the violin." She brushes the tips of her fingers over the cover of her book. I wonder about her comment regarding her sister.

"Do you have any social relationships? What about your friends?" Rose looks up sharply, accusingly.

"Of course I have friends. Dave, John, Jade. And I'm dating Kanaya," she adds, the corners of her mouth turning up in a slight smile as she pronounces the name, the way that people in love do.

"Ah, I see. Which one is he?" I ask. I have not memorized all of the children, their names, or what they look like. This is another reason that these individual interviews are helpful.

Rose frowns. "_She_ is the one with the dark brown hair and the jade lipstick." I immediately remember the girl with the light green lips sitting on the floor the first day, although it takes me a moment to get over the shock. I hadn't even considered…

"Oh. And your peers, they are…?" I trail off slightly.

The girl in front of me looks at me from under her light bangs. "Of course. They are very accepting."

I grin. "That's a nice environment that you all are being exposed to. I'm glad." She nods and says nothing. There is a long, awkward pause. I completely forget what I had planned on saying. Only my third interview and I'm already at a loss for words. I again begin to doubt that I can do this. Perhaps I could ask another employee…

No. I can do this. "Rose, how do you feel you are recovering from the recent events?"

She smirks at me. "I loathed almost everyone at that school. I don't particularly mind that they are gone. I mean, it is terrible, but there is nothing I can do about it."

I blink. This girl is certainly a character. "I thought you said the children in your class are quite understanding –"

"Yes, in my class," Rose cuts me off. "That does not mean the freshmen, juniors, and seniors cannot be ignorant pricks."

I drum my fingers on my desk. "I see." I don't see. How could attitudes vary so dramatically between grades? I obviously do not understand high school social systems as well as I should. However, I am the expert here. I'm not going to let on that I am confused. Unfortunately, this particular child seems to be able to see right through any façade I could put up.

"Is there anything I can do for you today, Miss Lalonde?" She shakes her head and cracks open her book, the spine making a crinkling noise. It's new.

So I turn back to my paperwork. I have forms to fill out, biographies to read, information to commit to memory. We sit in silence. My office becomes so quiet I can hear my watch ticking. I become absorbed in my work.

Suddenly, I am jolted into reality as the grandfather clock strikes three and Rose dog-ears a page in her book. She is already halfway through with it. She stands and nods. "Thank you for your time," she says as she departs. I click my pen closed and wait for my next visitor, a certain Jade Harley, my list informs me.

I contemplate my time with Rose. We spent most of it quietly. However, I feel as if perhaps I still know her just as well as John, who I spoke with for two hours without ceasing. Could it be that even as a physiatrist, I don't need to talk all of the time? The thought had never occurred to me.

I'm not teaching these children. They're teaching me.


	6. Session 6 - Jade

**Author's Note: I know that purrobably no one will want to, but I've s33n other authors do it, so…if anyone wants to make some fanart or something I will defurently make it the cover image. Okay, that's all fur now! Enjoy! WAIT NO I LIED! One more thing: if anyone has an idea fur a cute Homestuck one-shot or drabble, let me know, beclaws I n33d more stories and these multi-chapter things take a LOOOOONG time to write! :33**

Shortly after Rose exits, the floor flies open again, and Jade Harley appears in my office, large circular glasses askew on her face and hair wildly flinging itself about. She springs toward my desk and claps her hands on the edge of it. Leaning across the desk until she is face-to-face with me, her bright green eyes scream urgency.

"I can help you find the bad guys!" she announces frantically. I watch her carefully, absorbing what she has said. She glares at me as if I haven't understood. "You have to do something!"

"Okay, okay, calm down, Jade," I say slowly. "Take a seat." She reluctantly plops into the chair, wringing her hands. "Now explain to me, carefully and in detail, what you have to say."

She takes a deep breath, fixing her glasses, and runs a hand through her hair. "One of them, Jack Noir, he contacts me sometimes, online." She looks distressed.

"What does he do to you?" I ask, now slightly disturbed. I fix my bowtie and try to lock my eyes with hers. Jade looks down at her lap.

"I guess…I guess you could call it stalking?" It is phrased like a statement but said like a question. "He tells me he loves me, in this really gross, sick way. And he says he wants to meet me."

The possibilities run through my mind in less than a second. She is definitely correct: we could use this to locate Jack Noir, and transitively, Lord English. "What website is this?"

"It's more of a program, called Pesterchum," she explains. "I tried to block him, but he finds a way to bother me anyway. His chumhandle is jackNoir, so I thought it was him. But I confirmed it this morning, so I needed to tell you."

I think over my options. "Okay, Jade. Here's what we're going to do. What is your…chumhandle, you said?" I pass her a piece of paper and a pen.

She nods. "Yeah. It's gardenGnostic."

"Please write that down, as well as your password and any other information one would need to access your account," I instruct her. She does so, folds up the paper neatly, and hands it back to me. I open it and look over what she has written. She has loopy handwriting, and dots her eyes with little circles. I refold the paper back along the creases and tuck it carefully in my jacket pocket.

"Thank you very much, Jade. You are very brave," I say. I mean it. I wonder how long he's been contacting her.

"It's nothing, Doctor Scratch. I just really want them to get caught and punished." Jade's eyes water up, and she paws at them with the back of her hands. "They hurt so many people."

I nod. "Here's what is going to occur, Jade," I clarify. "I am going to pass this information over to the police. The course of action they will likely take is using your account to masquerade as you and set up a meeting time with Noir. When they find him, they will apprehend him and use him to locate English as well. Do you understand?" She looks up at me and smiles.

"Thank you," she whispers softly.

"You're very welcome," I respond. "Now, you've done quite enough for one day. Is there anything else you would like to tell or ask me?" She shakes her head. "Well then, run along. I'll keep you posted," I add, pulling the paper out of my pocket and waving it in the air. She grins proudly and leaps up.

After the door slams, I unfold the paper once again and smooth it out on my desk. I pick up the old-fashioned white telephone on my desk and prepare to dial. As I do so, I glance at the grandfather clock. Not even 3:20. Two-hour long appointments seem to be too long. I consider changing them, after I make this more important phone call, that is.

The phone rings, and I hear the click as someone picks up.

"911, what is your emergency?"

"No emergency, not immediate, anyway. Could you get me on the line with the chief of police?"

"May I inquire as to your identity, sir?" says the bored female voice on the other end of the line.

"Doctor Scratch, physiatrist." I am put on hold. Not a minute later, there is a beep and I hear a familiar voice.

"Doc, how's it going?" says the charismatic voice of the chief of police. "Long time no see," he jokes.

"Chief, I have some interesting information regarding the capture of a notorious criminal."

"May I ask who?" he questions, all business now.

"Jack Noir," I reply. The line is silent for a few moments besides the crackling noise of the poor connection.

"Could you possibly…" he trails off.

"I'll be right over."


	7. Session 7 - Aradia

**Author's Note:** **Still n33d ideas fur a cute drabble or one-shot. Other than that, that's all furom me. Enjoy! :33**

The meeting with the chief of police had been much shorter than I had expected it to be. He had asked me to give him the information that Jade had given me, saying he would take it from there. I had returned to the office, as it was still early, but had found I was unable to get any work done. So I had driven home and had suffered through a soggy dinner and a pitiful night's sleep. I had once had a maid to do such things as cooking and cleaning, but she had quit and had begun working as a front desk lady at Skaia High. I suspect she had harbored feelings for the principal, a man named Hussie. But they're both dead now. She had been the very same Ms. Paint who had been shot and killed.

Returning to my office this morning had been especially awful. Yet another batch of angst-filled teenagers to deal with. Some days I wonder why the hell I'm even a physiatrist. But then I remember how good it feels to finish a job, heal someone from the inside out, and I am once again filled with love for my job.

But not this morning. I push all happy thoughts away and plop down at my desk, a black storm cloud hanging metaphorically over my head. Ruffling through my papers, I find the file of the girl due to arrive at nine. Aradia Megido.

A few minutes before nine, a Japanese girl with her hair in a high ponytail ambles through the open door. She has a backpack slung over her shoulders, which she swings to the floor before sitting in the chair before me, grinning merrily.

"Hi! I'm Aradia," she introduces herself. I blink at her, not really knowing how to respond. She waves a hand in front of my face. "Doc, are you okay?" she asks cheerily. I snap out of it.

"Yes, I'm sorry about that. Doctor Scratch, nice to meet you." I look her up and down. She seems to be dressed for some sort of outdoor activity. "Are you going somewhere after this?" I ask.

"Yep!" she announces. "I'm going hiking."

"By…yourself?" I wonder aloud. She nods enthusiastically.

"Yeah, my mom used to make me take my sister, even though she hated this kind of thing. But now she's dead, so!"

I lead back slowly in my chair. What is up with this girl? "Did you not like your sister?"

"Eh, not really," she admits, picking at a hangnail. "She was a slut." My eyes widen a bit at this brazen use of slang, and Aradia laughs a little at my reaction.

"My mom told her to get a job, and she's was a senior, right? A total burnout, didn't get good grades. She hooked up with a different guy after school every day, just for the fun of it. So she decided to charge them money to take it a bit farther and suddenly that was her job."

I pull on my collar. "A prostitute."

"Yup." I flip through Aradia's file, glancing up at her every one in a while. "It doesn't say anything about her in here. She was a senior?"

"Yeah, her name was Damara. She's seventeen. Or she _was_. Now she's just dead."

I scratch my bald head. "You don't say. So you harbor no sympathy or regret?"

Aradia shakes her head. "What happened, happened," she informs me. "There's no use moping over it. We just have to make the best of the time we have." She grins goofily at me. I say nothing.

"Am I done here?" Aradia asks politely. "I have a date."

"I thought you said you were going hiking."

"I am!" she explains, standing up. "I've got a date with adventure!"

And with a hop, skip, and a jump, I am alone.


End file.
